Della's Fortune
by Captain Weirdo
Summary: The fortune teller's story was different from the one Della told. Whose was the truth?
1. Chapter 1

A/N Apologies to the real Park Street for the heinous misuse of his name here. The name just works well here. I hope. I'm making no money from it and certainly don't own these characters.

This story is for just my entertainment and hopefully yours as well. Leave me a note and let me know what you think! Thanks!

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"This just isn't right. You know that, don't you?" Della Street asked, not looking up from the task on her desk.

"Hmm?" was Perry Mason's distracted reply from his desk in the next room. He looked up from the contract he'd been reading and regarded his secretary through the open door to her office.

"You heard me," she said, setting aside one document and picking up the next. She regarded the tip of her pen momentarily, then sent it skimming across the paper once more.

Glad for the distraction, Mason laid the contract on his desk and stretched his long arms before coming to stand in the doorway. Della completed yet another document, laid it aside and picked up the third. Mason moved to stand just over her shoulder. He looked down at the signature she'd just finished blotting.

"I don't know what the problem is. You do that better than I do," he said.

She finally looked up at him. "There is something downright criminal about signing your name to my own paycheck. Not to mention everyone else's."

He chuckled and picked up the check. "Nothing criminal about it when I have full knowledge and have instructed you to do so." He set the slip of paper back down on her desk. "You should put a 'Mrs.' in front of that and see how it looks."

"It would look awful," she muttered.

"Thanks a lot!" he said, trying to sound hurt. "What's so wrong with it?"

"I have no desire to sign 'Mrs. Perry Mason' on your new secretary's check," she said, leaning back in her chair. He perched a hip on the corner of her desk and looked down at her, arms crossed over his chest.

"How about if I promise to hire an ugly old fuddy-duddy? No blonde bombshells."

She grinned at him. "Hire all the bombshells you want. I don't care. It's just the fact that you'd be out having adventures with your new secretary – ugly or not – that's so bad." She crossed her arms, matching his pose and looking at him with a challenging gleam in her eye. "I don't want to be stuck in a big house somewhere wearing a fur coat, dripping in huge diamonds with only a little dog for company."

Perry threw his head back and laughed. "Any chance you'd wear the coat and the diamonds and nothing else? That could be fun."

"Mr. Mason!" She tried, successfully, to sound shocked.

He leaned forward and grasped her chin lightly in his hand and smiled down at her. "Why not, Della?" he asked softly. "Why the hell not?" His thumb brushed across her lower lip. She reached up and placed her hand over his, ever so slowly pushing his hand away.

"You know why not," she said, a note of frustration creeping into her voice. She took a deep breath. "I've told you before – I'd rather share your life than your bankroll."

"Why not share both?" he asked, twisting his hand so that his fingers circled her wrist. He stood and pulled her to her feet. She moved almost reluctantly into the circle of his arms.

"It just wouldn't work," she said softly, fingers toying with his necktie.

Perry regarded the top of her head, his expression somewhat perplexed. "That's what you always say, Miss Street." He tucked a finger under her chin and gently tipped her face up to his. "But you've never given me any real reason to believe you."

Her eyes darkened and she fought to meet his gaze. "You just have to trust me, Perry. I'm right about this."

He didn't answer; instead he dipped his head and tasted her lips very gently.

She was smiling when he pulled away. He tapped a finger on the end of her nose. "One of these days, I'm going to figure out the real reason behind your refusals, my dear."

Before she could reply the phone rang and she grabbed for it – almost guiltily. Perry stood watching her for a few moments longer as she spoke to the party on the other end of the line, then wandered back into his office.

He sat down behind his desk and reluctantly picked up the contract he'd been reading earlier. Rather than focus on the page, his eyes shifted back to Della's office. Her head was bent over her task once again. "I'd trust you about anything, Della," he murmured to himself. "Anything but this."

*********************

Perry Mason drew in a deep breath as he entered the air conditioned lobby of the Brentwood Building. His lunch meeting with a group of attorneys representing the Marquessi family had been long and tedious. Mason's client was Ed Morgan, a small businessman who'd been ruined by the reputed crime family's strong arm tactics. Feeling he had nothing left to lose, Morgan sought out Mason for help with civil action against the group. The crooks were too slick for the District Attorney to do anything about them, but they were open to civil suits where the burden of proof was somewhat different.

It had taken all of Mason's mental agility and then some to avoid the pitfalls of his lunch meeting. Now, as he crossed the lobby towards the bank of elevators, he felt his body relax from its adrenaline induced state of hyper-intensity, leaving him exhausted.

"Hey, Perry!"

Mason turned to see Paul Drake trot across the lobby to catch up to him. "How's it going?" he asked as he reached forward to push the up button that the lawyer had just pushed as well.

"Not too bad, Paul," Mason replied. "Just ready to get back to the office and call it quits for the day."

"Must be nice," Drake drawled as he stepped past Mason and into the opening doors of the elevator car. "Us working stiffs have to put in an entire day. You high dollar lawyer types can afford to knock off," he glanced at his watch, "at two o'clock."

Mason grinned. "Quit your bellyaching. It's been a long day already. I'm headed back up to the office just long enough to tell Della to close up shop. Then I'm going to put the top down on my car and drive up the coast to a little out of the way place that serves the best damn fried oysters you've ever had. A plate of oysters, some French fried potatoes and a few bottles of beer will make for one hell of a relaxing sunset out over the ocean."

Drake grinned. "And of course Della Street is going with you."

"She has to eat somewhere," Mason replied with exaggerated innocence. Drake laughed out loud.

"Why is it I can't get a secretary like that? None of my girls are half as efficient as Della and they're not nearly as much fun."

"That's because I hired my secretary because she was damn good at her job. You hire yours because they look good. After reading Della's resume and checking her recommendations, I would've hired her even if she'd been a twisted old hag," Mason laughed.

Drake rolled his eyes as they exited the elevator. He crossed the hall to his office door and paused with his hand on the knob. "Hope you have a lovely afternoon, Counselor," he said with an exaggerated grin.

"Go to hell!" Mason growled at him good-naturedly and continued down the hall. He passed the door to his own suite and continued down and around a corner to reach the hallway door to his private office. He fitted his latchkey in the lock and swung the door open, poised to greet his secretary with a big smile.

The office was empty. The connecting door to Della's office was closed. Mason took a breath. The smell of her perfume hung faintly in the air. She must have just left the room. He tossed his coat and hat on the big leather client's chair and crossed to the door to Della's office. Without breaking stride he swung open the door and was halfway across the room before coming to an abrupt halt.

Della Street's trim, tailored figure was backed up against her desk. She was leaning slightly backwards, supported by a palm placed flat on the desk's surface. Directly across from her was a tall, imposing, grey-haired man. His long, thick fingers easily circled the wrist of Della's other hand and he seemed to be pulling her towards him. He loomed over her, speaking through clenched teeth.

Two pairs of snapping brown eyes looked in Mason's direction as the door slammed behind him. "Get your hands off of her," Mason said. His voice and posture communicated quiet fury as he took a belligerent step towards the man.

The older man dropped Della's wrist and drew himself up to his full height, a couple of inches taller than the broad-shouldered lawyer. "I think you misunderstand. You must be Mr. Mason."

"I don't care whether I understand or not. If you want to leave here under your own volition, you'd better get to stepping."

"Are you threatening me?" the man asked incredulously.

"I'm just stating the facts," Mason replied.

"Chief – wait!" Della stepped between the two men.

Mason cut his eyes towards her in a quick glance. "You ok, kid?"

"I'm fine." She took a deep breath. "This is my brother, Chief."

"Your brother!"

"Yes. Perry Mason, meet Park Street. Park, this is my boss," Della stepped away from the two men and moved back around behind her desk.

Street held his hand out to the attorney with the somewhat petulant bad grace of a school boy forced to acknowledge an unwanted introduction. Mason glanced again at his secretary. Della stood with her arms crossed, eyes contemplating the surface of her desk. Her chest rose and fell as she sucked in air. Mason could see a twitch along her jaw, evidence of her clenched teeth. Finally Mason extended his hand to the other man.

After a perfunctory handshake, Street began to pull back, but Mason tightened his grip, trapping the other man's hand in his. "I don't know what's going on, but I don't like anyone harassing my staff." He glared at Della's brother. "And I don't like big boys who think they can push around women, regardless of how they're related. So why don't you go cool off for a while then call your sister later, Street? It will save you a lot of trouble in the long run." He released his grip.

Park Street opened his mouth to reply, but Della spoke first. "Just go, Park. I'll talk to you later." He pulled his eyes from Mason and looked at his sister.

"I'll leave, Della. But this discussion is far from finished." With that Park Street turned on his heel and left the office, slamming the door behind him.

Della collapsed into her desk chair. She looked up at Mason. "I'm so sorry, Chief. I know that was highly unprofessional and it won't –"

"Stow the apologies. Are you all right?" Mason asked anxiously.

"Yes. He didn't intend to hurt me. I seem to bring out the worst in him," she sighed.

Mason rested his hip on the corner of her desk. He pulled out a cigarette case and offered her one. He scraped a match into flame and lighted hers and his. He smoked silently for a few seconds, giving her a chance to speak.

She remained silent. After a few minutes a single tear trembled at the end of an eyelash. "Oh, dammit!" she exclaimed, wiping the drop away furiously.

"It's been a long day," he said quietly. "I was planning to close the office early and take off for a drive up the coast. Why don't you come with me? Fried oysters on the beach at sunset?"

Della took a deep breath and managed to smile up at him. "Sounds wonderful, Chief. But I can't. I really have to talk to Park."

"Let me go with you."

She shook her head. "I can handle him. I've been doing it all my life. He just caught me off guard, that's all. No offense, but he'd be worse if you were there."

Mason waited expectantly. When it became evident that was all she had to say on the subject, he reached out and placed his hand over hers on the desk. Her fingers were cold. "You know I'm here for you if you need anything. Anything at all. All you have to do is ask."

She nodded her thanks. "If it's ok, I think I'll take the rest of the afternoon off. I really need to handle this now."

"Sure. Like I said, we're closing up for the rest of the day anyway. I'll be at home. Promise you'll call if I can do anything to help?"

She nodded again. "What about oysters at sunset?"

Mason smiled down at her. "That's an experience always better shared. I'll save it for another day."

Mason stood and stretched. Della stepped into the outer office to notify Gertie they were closing for the day. When she returned, Mason was wearing his hat and coat and held hers out for her to slip into. His hands rested on her shoulders and he held her motionless for just a moment. "Promise me you're alright?"

"Yes," she responded, not looking at him. "I promise."

"Good girl." He gave her shoulders a final squeeze and released her. Together, they left the office, and rode the elevator down in silence. When they reached the parking garage, she smiled her goodbye and headed towards her car. Mason stood next to his own vehicle, parked a few spaces away and watched her leave. Heaving a sigh, he ran a hand through his hair and got in his car. He sat motionless behind the wheel for a long moment, as if debating a course of action. Finally, he started the car and headed for his apartment.

Perry Mason spent a long evening alone in his apartment, pacing and smoking and staring at the phone. It never rang. Finally, late in the evening, he gave in to temptation and dialed Della's home number. The mechanical ring signal sounded again and again in his ear. No answer. He dropped the receiver back into the cradle and heaved a deep sigh.

After downing the three fingers of scotch that he'd poured before making the call – his second such drink of the evening – he gave up and headed for the bedroom. Quickly divesting himself of his clothing, and putting on pajamas, Perry settled into bed with a stack of law journals.

He'd barely opened the first journal when his bedside phone rang. Only two people had that number – Della and Paul. He snatched up the receiver. "Della?"

"Hello Chief," Della said. "How's tricks?"

"You tell me. Is everything all right?"

"Oh, things have been better." He could hear her drawing in a deep breath. "Listen, I called to ask you for some time off. I have to go back home with Park."

"Of course, Della. You don't have to ask – just take all the time you need."

"Thanks. I don't know when I'll be back." Her voice sounded flat and tired. Mason could hear the sound of raindrops pounding on the roof of a phone booth coming across the line.

"Listen, kiddo, why don't you let me come pick you up. I'll drive you home and you can tell me what's going on. Maybe I can help?"

"I appreciate it Perry, but there's really nothing anyone can do. I just have to handle some business with my father's estate…" her voice trailed off.

Perry swung his long legs off the bed and began to undo the belt on his robe. "Where are you Della? I can be dressed and downstairs in just a matter of minutes. It's almost midnight and I don't want you out wandering the streets alone."

She gave a short, humorless laugh. "I'm fine - really. I just need to walk a bit to clear my head."

"Be reasonable, woman!" Mason had worked his arms free of the robe and dropped it on the bed. "It's raining out there!"

"Thanks for the concern, but I just don't feel like being reasonable. Good night, Perry."

"Wait!" He yelled into the receiver. "You can either let me come get you, Della Street, or the minute you hang up this phone I will call the police and have every radio car in the city out looking for you."

She was silent for a moment.

"Alright. I'm across the street from Rita's Diner, on Locust Street. I'm going in for a cup of coffee. You can meet me there if you want."

"I want," he said and hung up the phone. Within a minute, Perry was dressed and running down the stairs to his garage. Within fifteen minutes, he was sliding into a booth across the table from Della.

Mason's eyes swept over her, assessing her appearance before he spoke. She was still wearing the grey suit she'd worn to the office that day and her head was bowed over her coffee cup, her attention evidently captured by the motion of the spoon as she stirred in an aimless pattern. The short order cook, who seemed to be the only employee on duty at this hour of the night, came around the counter to stand next to their table.

"What'll it be?" he asked.

"Coffee, black. And two pieces of lemon pie."

Della looked up at him. "I don't feel like –."

"Two," Perry told the cook, ignoring her comment. He flashed Della a grin. "I bet you haven't eaten a thing since lunch."

She smiled slightly, dropping her gaze to the coffee cup again. "Well, not really, no." She drew in a deep breath, as though she were about to say more, but stayed silent. Perry leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table and watched her play with the coffee spoon some more. Finally, feeling his stare, she raised her eyes slowly, stopping near the collar of his shirt, where a gold chain glinted in the harsh fluorescent light. She stared at his chest rather quizzically for a long moment.

"Are you wearing your pajamas?" she finally asked.

Mason chuckled. "Only the shirt. I just tucked it into my pants and threw my jacket on over it. I was in a hurry."

She couldn't help but smile. "I wasn't going to run away. You didn't have to rush over here like that."

"Yes, I did," he said. "You're in a jam."

The waiter/cook appeared with the coffee and two big slabs of pie.

Della picked up the fork and tasted a small corner of the wedge. "I can handle it," she said before taking a second bite. "I've been handling it all my life." It was the same response she'd given him earlier that day.

"Will you tell me about it?" Perry asked quietly. When she didn't answer right away, he prompted her. "You've told me your family had money, then lost it in the stock market crash and that was why you started doing secretarial work."

Della laid her fork down next to the half-eaten piece of pie and pushed the plate away, as if any appetite she'd had suddenly deserted her. "I lied, Perry. I'm sorry."

He reached across the table and captured her fidgeting hand in his. "No apologies, Della. Just tell me what is going on."

She finally met his eyes. "Do you remember that time you needed to talk to a witness who was a fortune teller at a Mexican restaurant?"

He nodded. "She told your fortune, more or less."

"She was closer to right about me than the story I've told you. I didn't start working because my family lost their money. I started because I ran away from home and had to have a way to support myself."

Mason didn't say anything; instead, he caressed the back of her hand with his thumb. Her eyes were drawn to the movement and she stared down at their hands as she spoke. Once she finally started, the story poured out in a steady stream.

"My father was a very wealthy man. He owned the town's only bank and a lot of property and some controlling interests in local manufacturing. My mother worked as a teller in the bank. She had no family and was supporting herself. My father was married to Park's mother at the time. I don't know what happened, but Park's mother died unexpectedly not long after mother had worked her way up to a position as head teller. She spent a lot of time working closely with Father, who also functioned as the bank president. Eventually, they married. I was born a year or so later. Park was 18 years old when I was born.

Mother had to quit her job, of course. He put her up in his big house on the farm just outside of town. She was isolated there – almost a prisoner. She had nothing to do except plan the dinner parties for my father's business associates or attend reciprocal parties with him. She got restless. Things began to sour between them. The servants ran the household, the grooms ran the horse farm and there was a nanny who took over most of the care for me. She begged my father to let her do more, but he had definite ideas about what he wanted in a wife and they started to argue.

That's all I remember about my early childhood – their arguments. I didn't even really know Park. He was away at college and just came home on holidays or occasionally weekends.

Mother finally had her fill and packed our bags. She left and brought me out here to Los Angeles, which was just about as far as she could get from my father. I was five years old. We lived here for another five years before she died. Carmen, the fortuneteller, was right – she died of a broken heart. I had to go back home to live with Father. He didn't even come for the funeral, just sent Park back here with a plane ticket and instructions to bring me back with him."

Here Della stopped her narration and drew a somewhat tremulous breath. Perry pushed the slice of pie back across the table towards her and released her hand. "Eat something, Della. You're shaking," he said solicitously.

She took a bite and continued her story.

"I lived on the farm with Father for a few years before he died. We were never really close, but I think he felt somewhat guilty for the way he'd treated my mother. Or maybe not, I don't know. But, for whatever reason, when he died a few years later, his fortune was split equally between Park and me. Park was the executor and my guardian. He was furious with the way the estate was entailed. I was an equal partner in all the businesses and property and my part was held in trust until I was 21. Then, I gained partial control over my half of the estate, but Park retains partial trusteeship until I marry.

I don't know what Father was thinking with that clause! He probably had some business associate's son picked out for me to marry as soon as I finished high school. Little did he know," Della said and laughed bitterly.

Perry smiled and chuckled. "So what did you do?" he asked.

"When I was 17, I hopped on a bus and came back to Los Angeles. I worked as a hat check girl while I put myself through business school. You pretty much know the rest." She sat back against the booth cushions and regarded her employer with a tentative gaze. "I don't want the money. It's certainly never been able to buy me happiness. So, I lied to you and everyone else. Park has a partial power of attorney to handle most of my affairs and we generally leave each other alone. He's always resented me, anyway."

"And now?" Perry asked.

"Now? Now there is some sort of a problem and he needs to sell some assets and reallocate some of the capital. He can't do that without my signature. So, I have to go back with him, attend a board of director's meeting at the bank and a stockholder's meeting at another firm. Then, we'll sign some papers and hopefully that will be the end of it." Her voice betrayed her weariness.

Mason regarded her thoughtfully across the table. "Why not just let him have it? If he wants the money and you don't, why not just give it to him? Be done with it?"

Della looked at him for a long moment, then diverted her eyes to the window. She shrugged her shoulders. "Why, Della?" he asked softly.

"Maybe because I hate him as much as he hates me." Her voice was barely above a whisper. "He made my life a living hell for a long time. He and our father. I don't want the money, but I feel like they owe it – as payment, I suppose."

Mason gripped her hand and smiled at her. "Good girl!"

She turned confused eyes his direction.

"Stand up for yourself. If you don't want the money, give it away to someone deserving. But never give in to a bully." Her smile was somewhat uncertain. "I'm proud of you," he continued.

"T-Thanks," she stammered. "I thought you'd be mad – I lied to you."

"I can't say I don't wish you'd trusted me with this. But I can certainly understand your reasoning."

"I've never trusted anyone with this," she said.

"Feels better, now that you have?" He raised an eyebrow at her.

She thought for a moment. "Yes, I suppose it does." Her expression brightened.

Mason grinned and leaned across the table towards her. She interpreted his move and shifted towards him as well. Just then the waiter appeared.

"Can I get anything else for you folks?"

Mason threw him a disgruntled glance and sat back. "Don't you have anything in the kitchen that you need to check on?"

"Nope. I'm the only one working tonight. Grill cooking only." He stood nonchalantly at the edge of their table.

Della eyes betrayed her amusement as she watched the scene. Perry reached into his wallet and pulled out several bills. "Here's the money for the pie. Keep the change. And trust me," he glared at the waiter, "there is something in the kitchen that's going to require your complete and undivided attention for the next several minutes."

The waiter picked up the bills and shifted his eyes between his two customers, lingering slightly on Della. "Ok, fine. I can take a hint," he said and headed towards the back.

"Ten bucks is a pretty damn big hint, if you ask me," Mason grumbled.

Della laughed out loud. She was still laughing when Perry moved around the end of the table and came to sit on the bench next to her. He reached out and wrapped a hand around the back of her neck, drawing her to him. When Della finally pulled away, Perry pouted like a school boy. "I don't think I got my ten dollars worth yet!"

Della's smile was coy as she ran her hand down his throat, taking the gold chain she saw there in her fingers. "This is nice. Do you always wear it?" Her smile changed to a grin. "Or do you just wear it to compliment your pajama shirt?"

"That's a story for another late night coffee klatch," he said, grinning back at her. "And don't make fun of my outfit. I was worried about you."

She patted his chest. "I know. Thank you." She pressed her lips swiftly to his once more. "I should leave. I'm meeting Park at the airport very early in the morning."


	2. Chapter 2

After a somewhat fitful night, Perry Mason rose early, dressed and headed to Clay's Grille for breakfast. Instead of perusing the morning paper, as was his usual habit, he kept a careful eye on the comings and goings through the Brentwood Building lobby. He couldn't help watching the crowds for Della, even though he knew she wouldn't be among the office workers spilling through the lobby this morning.

Remembering how Della finally relaxed, leaned against his shoulder, on the short drive to her apartment the night before made him smile. 'Poor kid,' he thought. 'She completely wore herself out worrying about the situation.' He was very glad she had trusted him enough to finally tell him what was going on. Mindful of that trust, he'd shepherded her to the lobby door when they arrived at her building and only permitted himself the luxury of a short simple kiss before she went inside. As much as he would've loved savoring her lips all night long, he knew she needed rest.

Mason finished his second cup of coffee. He tossed a couple of bills on the table and headed for the elevators. When he got upstairs, he unlocked the door to his private office and stepped inside. He breathed deeply, hoping for a whiff of her perfume. Nothing. He tossed his hat in the general direction of the bust of Blackstone and missed his target.

As soon as he heard Gertie arrive to open the reception area, he told her he was going down to Drake's Detective Agency.

"I need you to run down some information for me and I want it handled very quietly," Perry Mason said once he was settled in the client chair across the desk from Paul Drake.

"Shoot," Drake said. The detective's long, lean frame seemed to be folded into the desk chair, which was tilted back as far as it would go.

"I need you to get in touch with your affiliate in Chicago. I want them to check out the business dealings of a bank president in Aurora, Illinois," Mason began. "I'm especially interested in the terms of the estate which he inherited from his father and any sort of shady or shaky business dealings he's had. I want to know who holds the purse strings. Anything you can pick up on the man's personality or background would be gravy."

Drake nodded and made a few quick notes. "It would help to have the guy's name," he said dryly.

"Street. Park Street."

Paul stopped writing and looked up at Mason from underneath raised eyebrows. "Street?"

"Yes. He's Della's brother." Mason met his friend's gaze with steely-eyed determination. "And I want this kept quiet – no one, especially Street himself, can know we're poking around into the background."

"What are you playing at Perry?"

"I don't know what the game is yet Paul. But I have a feeling it's a not very friendly game of pool and Della is right behind the eight ball." Mason stood and headed towards the door. He paused with a hand on the knob. "How long will it take you to get this information?"

Drake shrugged. "With it being hush-hush it's going to take longer. A couple of days. Three at the most."

"Make it less." With that Mason slipped out of the door and headed back to his own office.

***********************************

Two days passed without further word from Della. Perry spent long days in court, arguing pre-trial motions in his lawsuit. The Judge appeared sympathetic and the defendant's lawyers were pompous, arrogant, and predictable. Mason was never one to count his chickens early, but so far things looked very promising for his client, Ed Morgan. And the looks he received from the Marquessi brothers anytime he glanced in their direction during the hearings confirmed that he was making them nervous.

The morning of the third day after Della's departure found Mason at his office early. He'd spent another restless night, which he tried hard to blame on the remains of the adrenaline surge from the previous two days in court. No hearings were scheduled today. He got to the office early and shuffled through the stack of mail that had accumulated on his desk.

At nine o'clock Perry told his receptionist he would be at Drake's Detective Agency if she needed him. A few minutes later, he was pacing holes in Paul Drake's rug while the lanky detective sprawled in an office chair behind the paper-strewn desk.

"This stuff is dynamite, Perry. You're not going to believe it," Paul said.

"Spill it," the lawyer commanded, not breaking stride.

Paul flipped open a notebook and proceeded to go through his report. "Horace J. Street was the founder and president of the Aurora National Bank and Savings Company. He was married to one Honoria Wentworth Street and they had one son, Park. Upon the death of Honoria – and, as far as we know, not before – Street began to cultivate a relationship with Irene Gentry, his head teller. They married 13 months later. Della was their child."

"I know all that Paul. Her parents split up and she lived in Los Angeles for a while until her mother died," Perry said impatiently.

Paul raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. He flipped over to the next page. "Ok. You knew the father died a couple of years after the mother?" Mason nodded. Paul continued, "Horace Street's will gave Park the executorship of the estate, which by this time was extremely large. Varied business and banking interests, and a horse farm. He also had guardianship over his little sister. But Della had an equal share in the estate, which reverted to her partial control on her 21st birthday; full control upon marriage." Mason nodded impatiently again.

"Ok, here's where we get to the interesting part. My man happened to wrangle this out of a records clerk who'd been around the community for a long, long time. It was common knowledge in town that Park Street was furious with the terms of his father's estate. He didn't make a secret of the fact that he considered the marriage to Della's mother to be in the worst possible taste and he never had any use for his sister. She was foisted into his care, costing him time and money, as well as entangling a full fifty percent of the estate he considered should rightfully be wholly his.

"Rumor had it that he kept Della cooped up in the family mansion as much as possible. He may have even knocked her around a bit. There was a hint of a scandal with a high school basketball coach who called into question some bruises she'd seen on Della. After that, Park Street pulled his sister out of school and had her educated by private tutor."

Mason had stopped his pacing and stared belligerently at Drake. "Nothing was ever investigated, much less proved, and no charges were ever filed. He's a pillar of the community," Drake continued.

"He's a son of a bitch!" Mason's voice matched his belligerent gaze.

"Don't kill the messenger," Paul said. "There's more. Less than a year later, Della hopped a bus back to LA. None of the folks back in Illinois really know what happened to her. Just that she didn't come back. However, court-house records show that she never appeared in probate court after her 21st birthday. That would have been the natural time for her to contest the terms of the will. Even though she was of age, Park Street had control of Della's stock shares and assets. She maintains control over her principal but he can run the companies as he sees fit, unless there is action with her principal, then she has to approve it."

"Now, we haven't fully been able to get the financial picture on Park Street, but what I have found out is pretty fishy. He's losing money fast. I haven't been able to follow that trail very far, but I think he's covering gambling debts and bad investments. He needs Della's shares to shore up a loan he's trying to get through another bank. It looks to me like he owes money to the mob."

Mason raised his eyebrows and let out a long whistle.

"Yeah," Paul replied and flipped his notebook shut. "Oh, and one other thing. Della apparently has never made a will with regards to her fortune. I guess that's because if she dies, everything goes to Park, as per terms of the father's estate. Unless she's married. If she gets married, the old man wrote it up so that the shares revert to her full control and she can leave everything to whomever she pleases. How's that for screwy?"

Perry Mason leaned over Paul's desk, resting his weight on his fists. "If Della dies, the way things stand now, her brother automatically inherits?" he asked, his voice deadly quiet.

"Yeah," Paul said. Realization dawned in his eyes. "Damn, Perry! He needs money – you don't think…?"

Perry was already halfway out the door. "Call your operatives. Have them put Della under surveillance. Make sure nothing happens to her. I'm going to get her on the phone and find out what's going on." Back in his office, Perry Mason hovered impatiently over Gertie's shoulder as she worked to find a number where he could reach Della Street. When she finally made the connection with the local operator, he ducked back into his office to take the call.

"I have the Street residence on the line Mr. Mason," the receptionist said when he picked up the receiver.

"That's fine, Gertie. Just put the call through."

Mason heard the crackle of the long distance connection. "Hello? Street residence? To whom am I speaking?"

"This is Mrs. Anderson, the housekeeper." The voice was almost rough. Mason wasn't sure if it was really a characteristic of the speaker or more so of the poor connection.

"I wish to speak to Miss Della Street. Is she there please?"

"Who is calling?" the voice inquired shortly.

"Perry Mason. I'm Miss Street's employer," he replied.

"Miss Street is not here."

"When do you expect her back?" Mason inquired, impatience building.

"I don't. She's not here. Hasn't been here. Don't know where she is." And with that, the line went dead. Mason held the buzzing receiver away from his ear and stared at it incredulously for a long moment.

Mason clicked the intercom. "Gertie – get me Paul Drake on the line right away. While I'm talking to him, I need you to call the airport and charter a plane to Aurora, Illinois. I want to leave within the hour. Understood?"

"Y-yes sir, Mr. Mason." Gertie sounded worried, but Mason didn't have time to explain.

Within moments Paul's voice sounded on the wire. "There's a problem," Mason told him. "I just spoke to Park Street's housekeeper. She claims Della's not there, hasn't been there and they have no idea where she is."

"What?! What do you want me to do?"

"Get your men on the job. Have them watch the house. I'm going to be on a charter flight to Illinois as soon as I can get to the airport." Mason paused. "Tell them not to make contact just yet, but to get the lay of the land and keep an eye out for Della."

"Will do," Paul said. "What do you think has happened?"

"I have no idea – maybe nothing. I could be leading with my chin on this one, but I have a very bad feeling about it." With that, he hung up the phone. Minutes later his car was speeding towards the airport.

*********************************

Mason's arrival at the small country airstrip did not go unnoticed. The chartered plane was almost too big to land on the short runway, but the pilot managed the feat after being promised a big bonus if he didn't divert to a larger airport somewhere else.

The mechanic on duty at the local air service agreed to drive Mason directly to the Street farm. The town had a lone taxi, but the driver was laid up with a broken leg and had suspended the service. It was twenty minute drive into town and out into the rolling farmland on the other side where the Street property was located. The pastoral scenery rolled past the windows unappreciated as Mason pulled deep drags from one cigarette after another.

Finally, the truck pulled up at the end of a long curving drive that wound through an immaculate lawn up to a three story wood frame house with a large, columned entry reminiscent of a southern plantation house.

"You want me to wait on ya?" the mechanic inquired.

"No. I'll be a while. Thanks for the ride." Mason flipped him a ten dollar bill as he exited the truck. He could see a dark sedan parked under a tree a few hundred yards up the road. It appeared to be empty.

As soon as the mechanic's truck had rounded a bend and was out of sight, Mason jogged over to the sedan. As he got closer, he could see the top of a man's head peeking up over the dashboard. The man was evidently slumped as low in the seat as possible, hoping to avoid detection.

Mason walked up to the driver's side door as the man straightened in the seat. He leaned against the door and asked "You one of Drake's detectives?"

"Who's asking?" The detective eyed the attorney suspiciously.

"Perry Mason. I'm the one paying for this gig."

"You got I.D.?"

Mason fished out his wallet and handed the man his driving license. After studying it for a moment, the detective gave it back and shook hands with the lawyer.

"Name's Dunlap. I apologize for the set up, but there's no real way to hide the car out here. Drake said we're supposed to be on the lookout for some dame – a good-looking brunette, late twenties, short hair, nice figure, about 5'7."

Mason bristled slightly at the term 'dame', but let it pass. "Yes. Della Street. Any luck?"

"Well, Drake said to watch for her – like she'd be arriving. But I think she's already here. I've seen a woman who matches that description on the grounds already. She should still be here. No one's left since I got here, other than the owner, Park Street." The detective stifled a yawn and stretched his legs out under the steering column as far as he could.

"She's here? You're sure?" Mason asked, eyeing the sprawling grounds across the road.

"I'm not sure – haven't seen a picture – but she sure matches the description."

"Alright. I'm going in," Mason said. "Stay on duty. If you see her again, keep her in sight." Dunlap nodded his agreement and Mason headed up the road, back towards the house.

His assault on the doorbell was answered by a tall, angular woman of indeterminate age. She was certainly over 40, probably over 50, but she had the hard leathered features of a worker. Their unchanging nature had probably resulted in her looking much older when she was a young woman, but had the benefit of hiding her true age the older she got. When she spoke, Mason realized this was Mrs. Anderson, the housekeeper who answered his earlier phone call.

"I am here for Miss Street," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

"She's not here," the woman replied.

"I'm not going to waste time arguing with you. You can either let me in to see her or I'll bust down this door and find her myself. Got it?" Mason didn't raise his voice, but the tone and the glint of steel in his gaze caused the housekeeper to hesitate. She regarded him indecisively for a moment. Mason reached out and took the doorknob in his hand.

"Alright. Mr. Park told me not to tell anyone who called on the telephone that she was here." She smiled somewhat sourly. "He didn't say what to do with people who showed up on the doorstep. You'll find Miss Della down at the stables, no doubt messing about with someone else's business." She motioned in the direction of the huge horse barn set back away from the house. "Mr. Park has told her to keep her place, but she never listens." Mrs. Anderson's voice trailed off as she was already stepping away from the entry and swinging the door shut as she spoke.

Mason took off in the direction of the stables, his long legs making quick work of the distance. The big doors on both ends of the barn were open, allowing the breeze to cool the building and keep the flies at bay. Mason stood just inside one of the big doors for a moment, listening and letting his eyes adjust to the shadows inside. He could hear the soft snuffling noises of horses in their stalls and the scrape of a shovel against the wooden floor.

He followed the sound of the shovel, careful not to make any noise himself. The sound came from a stall on his left, about half-way down the side of the building. Just as he neared the stall door, he heard a familiar voice.

"Leave me alone, Midnight," Della Street laughed. A horse made a soft nuzzling sound. "I can't clean this mess if you're going to be uncooperative."

Relief poured over Mason at the sound of her laughter. She was all right.

The half-door on the stall opened, and Della's trim figure slipped through. Her attention was still on the horse and she didn't see the lawyer standing in the shadows. She started violently when he reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. "Perry!" she exclaimed, dropping the shovel. "What in the world are you doing here?"

"Making sure you're ok." He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her tightly against his chest. "You are, aren't you?"

Della allowed herself to be held for just a moment before pushing away from him and taking a step back. "Of course! I'm fine! What is this all about?"

Mason looked at her more closely and saw his normally well-tailored secretary clad in oversized work pants and a man's work shirt, the tail of which was knotted at her waist and the overly long sleeves rolled up above her elbows. As she went about her tasks, the shirt had worked its way up her torso, leaving an enticing strip of skin visible just above her waistline. She took a deep breath, which drew his gaze to the open collar of the work shirt. Even though she had buttoned all but the top two buttons, the shirt was big enough that the open collar afforded him a tantalizing view. By sheer force of will, he drug his eyes back up to her face.

"Nice shirt," he said, his voice and posture nonchalant as he leaned against the side of the stable door. Della laughed and ran her hands through her hair, divesting it of several stray pieces of straw.

Mason smiled down at her, taking note of her flushed skin and the way the perspiration plastered a couple of brown curls to the side of her face. Her skin glowed from exertion and her eyes twinkled up at him. 'I wonder if this is what her face looks like when she makes love?' he thought before clearing his throat and taking a step back, mentally biting his tongue.

"I'm quite alright, Perry Mason. I've been renewing some old acquaintances," she said as she reached out and patted the neck of the horse whose head was now stretched over the stall door as he tried to nuzzle Della. The big animal seemed to be sizing up the lawyer. "But what in the world are you doing here? What happened to Mexico?" she asked.

"Mexico?" He was genuinely puzzled.

"Of course."

"I don't know what you're talking about Della!"

"I got your telegram right after I arrived. You said you had to take your client to Mexico to avoid trouble. I assumed the Marquessi gang had threatened Mr. Morgan. You said you were going to be there and out of contact for a while. What happened?"

"I never sent any such telegram. And I've been in Los Angeles, worrying when there was no word from you. I tried to call, but your housekeeper told me you weren't here. She said they hadn't seen you."

Della's eyebrows arched in surprise. She started to speak, then checked herself. She held up a hand to silence any question from Mason and indicated he was to follow her. "The walls sometimes have ears," she said. They made their way out into the bright sunshine and into the kitchen garden located behind the house. As she walked in front of him, Della tugged at the bottom of her shirt. "I must look an absolute mess," she said, glancing back over her shoulder.

"I must say, I've never seen you look quite so…earthy," he told her with a grin. Her silky laughter floated back over her shoulder towards him.

"Let's sit in the shade," she said, indicating an apple tree in the corner of the garden. Mason followed her and dropped to the ground next to her so he could lean back against the tree trunk. He loosened his tie and glanced back towards the road, but they were out of sight of the detective on duty.

"The walls have ears around here," Della said. "If you didn't send me the telegram, then Park is obviously behind it."

"I agree. He wants to keep you isolated here, it appears. What was the business transaction he needed you to approve?"

"I don't know the particulars yet. I'm supposed to go to dinner with him this evening – dinner with a couple of his so-called investors who are coming down from Chicago. I'd planned on developing a headache and spending the evening in my room instead. The housekeeper and head groom are the only two servants who sleep in. I thought I'd wait until they'd gone to bed, then search Park's study to see what I could find."

Perry gave her a sidelong glance. "You're becoming rather criminally minded, Miss Street. Wherever did you get such ideas?" he asked.

"From a slick west coast attorney," was her laughing reply. "You've taught me well, Mr. Mason."

Perry grinned as he reached down and pulled a handful of grass. He let the blades trickle through his fingers and fall back to the ground. "Your brother is desperate Della. I had Paul do some checking. He needs your money to pay off the mob." He turned his eyes towards her, squinting a bit into the sun. "I think there is something pretty sinister going on here."

She sighed and dropped her gaze from his. "I know. I didn't know about his mob problems, but I suspected it was something like that. It's obvious that he's trying to manipulate me into a corner. Anderson," she gestured towards the house, "is keeping an eye on me and no doubt reporting back to Park. Anderson and Mickey Jones, the head groom, have both worked for the family for years," she said. "They are completely loyal to Park. I'm considered the interloper, the unwanted child who robbed him of half his fortune." Della looked back at Perry. "So, I decided a long time ago I didn't need any of them or the money. I knew I'd be much happier surviving on my own."

"I think you're in danger here, Della," Mason said seriously. "Let's get you out of here and then we can file papers to have a full accounting made of the estate."

"That would take at least a month, Chief. I appreciate your concern, but I want to find out what I can here, first. Park is a smart man. He'll hide the majority of his sins, given half a chance."

"He needs your money, Della," Mason said. He reached out and brushed the back of his hand across her cheekbone. "I don't want him to hurt you in order to get it."

Della regarded him thoughtfully for a moment. "Paul Drake has evidently been busy," she finally said. Mason nodded in response, his hand resting on her shoulder. "I'm not a child any longer, Perry. I can take care of myself."

Mason's eyes studied her face, marveling at the determination he saw in her eyes and the set of her jaw. He leaned closer, eyes drawn to her lush mouth. Then her lips moved.

"Anderson is watching," she stated matter-of-factly.

"I'd hate to disappoint her," Mason murmured, his eyes still caressing her lips.

"Mmm-hmm," was Della's reply as she took hold of the back of his neck and pulled him down to her. This kiss lasted for interminable minutes as each gave and took from the other. Mason circled her waist with his arm, and pulled her closer to him. His fingers slid across the silky skin of her stomach that her shirt had revealed. He felt her body flex at his touch. Her responsiveness stirred a deep seated longing and he had to fight to hold himself back. Ravishing Della against the cool grass, in full view of the house and at least one servant, was not an option, but it was fast becoming a necessity.

Finally, Della pulled away, needing air and no doubt sensing a need to separate from him. She smiled up at him and he knew that she knew full well the effect she had on him.

"Just for the record," the lawyer said, "I want it noted that I asked you to marry me long before I knew you were a millionaire."

Della laughed and rolled away from him, coming to rest stretched out on her stomach, facing towards the house. "Glad to hear it," she said, her gaze traveling the windows along the back of the house. "The people who know I'm rich don't seem to have much in the way of fond feelings for me."

"Their loss," Mason said. He unfolded his long frame and got to his feet with a quick grace that seemed somehow surprising in such a large man. He held his hand out to Della. "Why don't you go inside and get cleaned up. I'll go talk to the men Drake has watching the place and we'll meet up again in half an hour or so to decide what to do next."

"You have detectives here?" Della's surprise faded into a smile. "I should have known."

Mason didn't let go of her hand as he allowed her to lead him into the house. Mrs. Anderson met them at the door. Della performed a perfunctory introduction then told Mason she'd meet him downstairs in the library as soon as she'd showered and changed. Mason nodded and said, making sure the housekeeper heard him, that he was going out to take a walk around the grounds.

Della made her way quickly up the sweeping staircase, headed for her small suite on the second floor. It was the same suite of rooms she'd occupied there since moving out of the nursery as a young child. Unlike her apartment back home in Los Angeles, these rooms were almost Spartan in appearance. There was very little in the way of personal items in them.

The shower spray washed away the last traces of dirt and straw clinging to her body. Once finished, Della turned off the water and reached for the towel hanging on a hook just outside the shower door. She toweled her skin briskly as she hummed softly to herself.

Then it hit her. She stopped the motions of her hands and the hum turned into a frustrated groan. She froze for just a moment, then grabbed for her robe and slippers. She was still belting the robe when she flung open her bedroom door and slipped out into the hallway, headed for the stairs.

Successfully avoiding Anderson and the downstairs maid who was dusting the entryway, Della made her way to her brother's study and noiselessly turned the door handle. She opened it just wide enough to slip inside. Perry Mason was bent low over the open desk drawer and didn't flinch until he heard the click of the latch as Della closed the door behind her.

"I should've known!" she exclaimed, slightly breathless. Mason looked at her rather sheepishly.

"Sorry, Della, but I thought it would be better for me to do this than you. If I get caught, they'll just throw me out. You've got enough trouble already without someone catching you doing a little light house-breaking."

She glared at him. "I've told you I can handle this. I don't need –" she broke off at the look on his face. "Oh, I give up," she sighed. Mason's contrite expression turned into a mischievous grin. "What have you found?"

"A whole lot of nothing," he said, serious once more. "The records he keeps here are superficial at best. There is nothing provocative in them, other than the slow draining of capital from your shared holdings. He's evidently too smart to put anything illegal on paper. It's going to take some major audit work to make any headway with this."

"Damn," Della sighed and slumped into one of the leather arm chairs in front of the desk. "What are we gong to do now? I don't think I've got time to wait for a thorough audit. Park will have squirreled away what he can and sunk the rest by then. It's not that I would be in any worse shape if that happened, but there are a lot of people in this town who count on that bank and the factory and other businesses for their livelihood. Park would toss them all to the wolves."

Mason walked around to the front of the desk and leaned against it as she spoke. He crossed his arms over his chest and contemplated the floor for a moment. There was silence as he appeared to be lost in thought and she toyed with the belt of her robe, using it to draw patterns on her thigh.

The sound of a long, drawn out, sigh brought her eyes up to his face. He was gripping the edge of the desk and grinning down at her. "I can't think."

"You've got to think!" she exclaimed. "I'm all out of ideas."

"If you believe I, or any other red-blooded male, can form any sort of coherent train of thought with you sitting there, obviously naked under that robe," he gestured towards the neck of the robe which she had failed to notice was gaping open, "still wet from the shower, skin still pink from the hot water," he leaned closer to her with each word, "smelling so deliciously of strawberries and sunlight," he moved closer still as she tilted her face up to meet him, "then you, Miss Street, are operating under some very flawed assumptions." He reached out and tapped the end of her nose with his finger.

Della caught his hand in her own. Her voice was more sultry than usual when she spoke. "Perry," was all she managed to say before they both started at the sound of footsteps in the hall outside the door. Mason jerked his arm free and crossed the floor in two silent steps, managing to turn the lock on the door just as the handle rattled. Neither moved, nor even breathed, until the handle stilled and footsteps could be heard making their way back down the hall.

Mason breathed a sigh of relief and Della hissed through clenched teeth, "Anderson, no doubt. Wondering where we are."

"Then let's be somewhere else," he replied and threw the door open and stepped out into the hall as if he had every right to be in the room. He found the hallway deserted and gestured for Della to join him. She took his hand and led him up the stairs back to her own suite. Once inside, Mason began to pace the floor as Della gathered clothing and closed herself in the bathroom to dress. When she emerged half an hour later, fully clothed and coiffed, she found the lawyer standing in the middle of the room, head down, hands deep in his pockets.

Della crossed the room and opened the jewelry box on top of the dresser. She selected a simple pair of gold hoops and glanced at Mason in the mirror as she put them in her ears. He was staring at her.

"Well?" she asked.

"I have an idea," he said slowly.

She paused, hands still at her ear lobe, waiting for him to continue. When he didn't, she finished fastening the earrings, then turned to face him. She raised her eyebrows in question.

He smiled ruefully. "I don't want to tell you. You're going to hate it."

"I'm going to hate you if you keep me waiting."

Mason sighed. "The easiest way to keep your brother and the mob from trying to kill you for the money is for you to get married."

"Married," she repeatedly flatly. He nodded.

"I'd forgotten about that clause," she said slowly. "But …I don't see how…"

Mason spread his hands. "There's no waiting period in this state, Della. All we have to do is get to the courthouse before 5:00 P.M."

"No, Perry. No." She shook her head as she turned away from him and tried to busy herself with something on top of the dresser. Mason stepped up behind her and put his hands on her upper arms, squeezing gently.

"I'm not trying to push you, Della, I swear," he said softly.

"But Perry, we can't. We can't get married. It would change everything. I can't marry you," Della pleaded with him, catching his eyes in the mirror.

"I know. You always tell me you want to share my life. It never made sense before, but now I'm beginning to understand. Just hear me out. What I'm suggesting is a marriage in name only. A legal formality. We'd go through a ceremony and get a license so as to negate your father's will. We make sure that Park knows that, if something happened to you, your money would come to me, not him. You'll handle things here, then we'll go back to Los Angeles and you'll make a will disposing of your assets however you see fit. That's all. Then, we get divorced. We can't get an annulment because that would leave some question as to the status of your assets under your father's will. But as soon as this is settled, we'll file the paperwork for a quick, no-fault divorce." He met her gaze in the mirror, his eyes communicating honesty and openness. "Nothing has to change between us."

Della looked down at her hands, which were spread on the surface of the dresser. She thought for a moment, then turned so that she was facing her employer. "Name only? Promise?"

He nodded and let a smile break through his serious expression. "I never thought I'd have to make such concessions to get a woman to marry me," he said.

Della almost smiled. "Well, it will be worth it to see the look on Park's face when we spring this on him." Della pulled away from Perry and began to do some pacing of her own. "We can't go to the courthouse here. Too many people know me and are friends with Park."

"We'll go somewhere a couple of counties away," Mason said.

Della glanced at the clock beside her bed. "It's almost five o'clock now. We'd never make it in time."

"Nuts," he said, grabbing her by the elbow. "You are much too quick to discount the power of love, my dear. Grab your purse, we're going places."


	3. Chapter 3

Mason propelled Della down the hall, down the stairs and out the front door, right past the inquisitive housekeeper. Once outside, Della directed him to the garage where they took the keys to a large convertible and were soon on the road towards town. They stopped at a gas station on the outskirts where Mason supplied Della with dimes and she made a series of calls. After several minutes, she returned to the car where Mason was waiting and slid into the front seat with a quick flash of leg.

"I spoke to Judge Daniel's secretary in Carson County. Evidently, he loves to do weddings and has agreed to wait until 6:30 for us to get there." She glanced at her wrist watch. "That should give us just enough time."

By 6:15 the big car was pulling up in front of the tall, domed building that dominated the square of the small county seat. Mason shut off the engine and held the door for Della, taking her hand as she exited the car. "Ready?" he asked as he tucked her hand protectively into the crook of his arm.

"Not especially," she said, looking up at the building looming over them. She sighed and turned her eyes towards Perry. "I suppose we have to make this look good? Keeping up appearances and all that?" A smile played at the corners of her mouth.

Mason answered her in his most solemn, ponderous tone. "We certainly can't have the local judiciary becoming suspicious of our motives, Miss Street. After all, they've stayed well past quitting time in order to help shore up the course of true love. I'd hate to have them think this is just a business transaction."

"Perhaps you have some suggestion on how a blushing bride should act in such a situation. Never having been a blushing bride, I'm at a bit of a disadvantage," she said, leaning back against the front fender of the automobile.

"I've never been a blushing bride either," he remarked and she laughed. "But I think perhaps I can help you with setting the mood." He moved closer, and wrapped his arms around her body even as she cocked an eyebrow at him. She tilted her head up, slightly, anticipating his kiss. His lips brushed past hers, unexpectedly, down her jaw and into the hollow of her throat. Her gloved fingers curled reflexively around the lapels of his jacket and she gasped in surprise.

Perry Mason lingered, lips pressed against her neck for a long moment. The sensuous movement of his lips and tongue against the soft skin elicited a faint moan from deep in her throat. When he finally pulled away, he smiled down into her startled eyes. "You're blushing now," he whispered.

With that he took her elbow and led her up the steps to the entryway. He held the door for her and as she passed next to him she said "You're going to pay for that, Perry Mason." She tried to keep her voice serious, but couldn't hide the twinkle in her eyes.

"I can only hope," he said fervently, innocent eyes turned skyward. Della couldn't help but smile.

"Oh my, but aren't you a lovely couple! And such love birds!" The lawyer and his secretary both started at the sound of a woman's voice and turned in the direction of the speaker. A short, grey-haired woman was bustling towards them, arms outstretched. She reached for Della Street's hands. "You're Miss Street of course. How pretty you look!" She patted Della's cheek before turning her attention to Mason. "And you're the groom! So handsome! You make a perfectly darling couple, I must say. All our couples are lovely – never met an ugly bride – but you too seem especially well suited to each other. Just lovely," she sighed.

The bride and groom both seemed to be at a loss for words in the face of the friendly onslaught. A second voice boomed out from an office doorway down the hall. "Don't mind Betty, kids. She gets all worked up about weddings. Come on down here to the courtroom and we'll get this thing started." He held out a hand to the approaching couple. "I'm Judge Daniels. Come on in and make yourselves comfortable. I'll get into my robe and Betty will get the license typed up." With that, he went through the door into his chambers. Betty grabbed a steno notebook and jotted down the pertinent information for the license.

"You two just wait right here. Won't be a minute," she told them as she skittered back into the judges chambers.

Della walked over to the jury box. She leaned against the railing separating it from the rest of the room and watched as Mason made a circuit of the space, taking in the intricate woodwork and the portraits of previous judges that decorated the walls. "Nice place," he said. "The acoustics are good. Feels right." He glanced over at Della. "This would be a swell place to try a case."

"How about staging a wedding?" Della asked.

Mason's face broke into a grin. "Where else would you and I get married Della? The courtroom is the perfect place, don't you think?"

Before she could answer, the door to the Judge's chambers opened again and he held the door for his secretary to precede him into the room. Betty beamed at the couple and moved to a seat at the court reporter's table. The Judge came to stand in front of the bench. "Everybody ready?" he asked, warm green eyes moving between the bride and groom.

Perry looked at Della, his eyebrows raised in question. She nodded slightly. He turned back to the judge. "We're ready, Your Honor."

With careful solemnity, the jurist read through the proscribed ceremony. Mason made his vows first, eyes locked on Della. The intensity of his gaze almost frightened her. When her turn came, she surprised herself with the clearness of her response. Her eyes locked with his again, drawn into their dark blue world. She couldn't, didn't, look away until she heard the judge's voice intone, "You may kiss the bride." At that moment her gaze faltered, as if she'd somehow forgotten that part.

Perry hadn't. He pulled her to him and captured her lips with his before she had a chance to react. The kiss lingered, seeming to speak to her of many things he could not say. She clung to him, thrilled by him, as his mouth worshipped hers.

A flash bulb popped.

Della all but jumped away from her new husband.

Betty laughed lightly. "I didn't mean to startle you. All our couples get a photograph as a part of the fee for the wedding. If you'll hold on a few minutes, I'll get this developed and finish out that license." She hesitated, then said to Della, "If you can come help me just a bit, dearie, I can get this done faster and the two of you could be on your way. Let's leave the men folk to talk amongst themselves for a minute or two."

Della followed her out of the courtroom.

The judge held out a hand to Mason. "Congratulations, son. She's a beautiful girl. Seems nice, too."

Mason smiled. "She's perfect." The judge grinned and pulled a couple of cigars from the folds of his robe. He proffered one to the groom and lit them both. They smoked in companionable silence for a few minutes. Finally Mason spoke, "Can you recommend a good restaurant for a wedding dinner?"

Judge Daniel's face broke into a huge grin. "Just been waiting for you to ask. Turns out my sister-in-law runs a cozy little Italian place just a few blocks over. If you tell her I sent you, she'll give you a table out back. She's got a fountain out there, under a wisteria covered patio, strolling violinist, the whole shebang. If you're interested, I'll ring her up and tell her to look for you. Very private. And the food's top notch, too."

Mason laughed out loud. "You run a good racket, Your Honor. Sounds perfect."

Just then, the door opened and the two women returned. Della followed along behind Betty, studying the still damp photograph she held by the edges. Betty was carrying the marriage license, which she spread out on the council table.

"Alright then, the Judge and I will sign as witnesses," Betty said, handing a fountain pen to Judge Daniels. He signed with a flourish before passing the pen back to the secretary. She signed her name, Betty Daniels, and handed the pen to Della.

"Daniels?" Della asked, reading the name off the document. "Are you…?"

"Yes, we are!" the secretary beamed at Della. Judge Daniels moved over and put his arm around his wife's shoulders.

"We got married about six months after Betty came to work for me," the Judge said, smiling down at his wife. "Couldn't afford to take a chance on her getting a better offer somewhere else, so I sewed her up as soon as I could. Best thing I ever did."

"And you've worked together? Ever since?" Della asked, surprise in her voice.

"Oh, yes," Betty told her. "It's been wonderful. There are times, certainly, that we want to strangle each other. That's normal for any couple. But when you love someone you find a way to work it out."

Della stared at the woman for a moment, then stole a glance at Perry. He was standing just to one side, eyeing Della with a bemused expression. Della shook her head slightly, then bent to sign her name. She handed the pen to Mason, hanging on to it just long enough to catch his eye. His eyes were dancing with amusement. She relinquished the pen and turned to the Judge and his wife, thanking them for being so kind and helpful.

"Not at all, my dear," Judge Daniels said. "This is likely to be the last wedding we'll do. I'm retiring next month. You two seem to be a very much in love and a fitting way to end our service."

Betty smiled up at her husband, then picked up the photo that Della had left on the table. "It's pretty well dry now. You'd best take good care of it." She handed it to Perry Mason. He studied it with some curiosity. It was a close up shot of the two of them, wrapped in each other's arms, oblivious to anyone or anything else around them. Mason smiled over at the photographer. "Thank you," he said quietly. "This means a lot to me."

She smiled knowingly at him and patted his arm. Then she shooed the both of them out of the courthouse like a mother hen, admonishing them to drive carefully and to have a wonderfully happy life together.

Mason started the car, but did not pull away from the curb. He glanced over at Della, to see her leaned back against the cushions, staring out the side window and drumming her fingers nervously on the car door. "I take it you're not really hungry," he drawled.

She smiled over at him. "We've been married all of fifteen minutes and you're already reading my mind?" she quipped. Mason laughed, more out of relief that she could joke about the situation than anything else. He didn't want to admit it, but he couldn't help but feel like that simple ceremony had somehow irrevocably changed things between them. Whether for better or worse, he didn't know.

"Well, if you don't feel up to a candlelight wedding supper, how do you feel about heading back and facing the music with your brother?"

She laughed nervously. "Can I admit that the thought of both of those options makes must just a little nauseous?"

Mason chuckled and picked up her left hand, brushing his lips across the back of her fingers. She turned to look at him, her expression contrite. "I'm really sorry Perry. I know you're doing me a wonderful favor and I don't want you to think I don't appreciate it."

"Nonsense," he chided. "This whole situation is intolerable. If anyone should apologize, it's me. After all, I married you for your money."

She laughed again, more naturally this time. Mason grinned at her, put the car in gear and pulled away from the curb. Della scooted across the seat towards him. He wrapped his right arm around her shoulders, allowing her to settle down against his chest. He could feel her smile after he bent his head and kissed her hair. Neither spoke and within a few miles he could tell from her breathing that she was fast asleep.

'Poor kid,' he thought. 'Probably hasn't had a decent night's sleep in a week.' He rubbed his hand up and down her arm, occasionally stopping to brush his fingers through her hair or to press another kiss to her head. Mason kept his eyes on the road but his thoughts were completely occupied by the woman – the wife – at his side. Oblivious to it all, she slept on and the miles flew by the windows, eaten up by the spinning tires of the powerful machine.

*******************************************

The sun was just starting to set when Mason piloted the car up the winding drive in front of the huge house. Mrs. Anderson was out on the front steps, hands on hips, by the time Perry and Della exited the car. "Where have you been, Miss?" Anderson demanded imperiously. "Your brother has been worried sick."

Della brushed past her, refusing to acknowledge the demand. She and Perry entered the house. Della drew him into a sitting room just off the main entrance. Anderson followed them, stood in the door for a moment, then turned and flounced down the hall towards her employer's study. "Park should be joining us momentarily," Della remarked wryly, watching the servant's retreating form.

"Good," Mason said. "Let's see what hand he wants to play." He sat down on one end of the over-sized sofa and crossed his legs. One long arm draped over the back of the couch and he turned so that he could watch Della as she paced the room behind him. Within a few moments, they heard purposeful footsteps coming down the hall towards them.

"Della, my dear," Park started as he reached out and took his sister's hands in his. "I was so worried. You left no word on where you were going or what you were doing." He glanced over at the sofa. "Although, I suppose we should have known that Mr. Mason would take good care of you."

Mason unwound his frame and stood up with the slow easy grace of a man totally at home in his own skin. He stuck his hands in his pockets and regarded the other man with level eyes. "It's been my experience that Miss Street is more than capable of taking care of herself."

Park Street tried to smile in response, but wasn't completely successful. "It's getting late, Della," he said. "We have dinner reservations soon. I know you haven't forgotten our dinner meeting with the Chicago investors. I was able to contact them and move the reservations back a couple of hours. But we need to leave now."

"I haven't forgotten," she replied. "And I'm certain you won't mind that I've asked Mr. Mason to accompany us." She smiled sweetly, eyes fixed unflinchingly on her brother. The older man looked as if he were about to protest, but then thought better of it.

"Actually, I think that is a wonderful idea. I'd enjoy spending some time with you Mason. Any friend of my baby sister is bound to be a friend of mine as well." Street's smile was positively oily at this point. "Why don't the two of you meet me out front in about 15 minutes and we'll head out." With that, Park Street turned on his heel and left the room.

Mason chuckled softly as Della shook her head. "He's not much of a liar," she said. "After all these years of practice, I really thought he'd be better at it by now." She headed towards the door. "I'm going upstairs to freshen up. Did you bring any baggage? Has Anderson given you a room?"

"No and no," he replied. "I was in a bit of a hurry. Rather desperate to see you, you know." He grinned at her. "If you're offering lodging for the night in your room, I can just sleep naked and borrow your toothbrush in the morning."

She arched her eyebrows at him disdainfully. "Never mind. You can have to room next door to mine and we'll stop at the all-night drug store on the way back."

Mason sighed and fell into step behind her as she made her way upstairs to the bedrooms. "Can't blame a man for trying, can you?"

*************************************

When they rejoined Park Street in the entry way a few minutes later, he was wearing a long overcoat and driving gloves. He held the door for the couple and ushered them out to a waiting automobile.

"Why don't you sit up front with me, Mr. Mason? More room for us long-legged types. Della, if you don't mind sitting in the back?" He directed them into seats, then settled himself behind the wheel. "Everyone ready?"

They headed north down the highway, away from the city. The small talk was strained, but not unbearable. The road was almost deserted and the big car cut a wide swath through the countryside. "We're meeting at a small, out of the way steak house. Do you remember Jackson's Steak House, Della? That little place right on the edge of the woods." He continued, without waiting for her reply. "It's got a fabulous atmosphere. Draws clientele even from Chicago on the strength of the ambience alone and the food is wonderful too." Park continued his monologue for several uninterrupted minutes. They were now on a completely deserted section of road, corn fields rising high on either side of them.

Perry Mason made only minimal replies, but kept a steely eye on the driver as well as the road. Eventually a car could be seen approaching in the distance. He saw a flash of light.

"What was that? Did you just signal with your headlights, Street?" Mason demanded.

The dark sedan seemed to speed up. The road straightened out before them.

"Oh, well, I just like to let other drivers know I'm here," Street said, his voice quivering slightly. "It's started to come onto twilight and sometimes it can be difficult to see a dark colored car like this."

Della moved forward in the seat to get a better view of the road. The big car began to slow as the driver eased off the throttle. "Why are you slowing down?" she demanded.

"Street! What the devil are you playing at? Pull this car over – now!" Mason commanded.

The other car was fast approaching, almost even with them. Mason grabbed the wheel, pulling them to the side of the road. "Get down, Della!" he yelled towards the back seat. The two cars roared past each other, seemingly only inches apart. The barrel of a gun stuck out of the rear window and Mason heard the rapid repeat of gunfire blasting into the back end of their car. The vehicle skidded to a stop on the side of the road, but the second car sped up and disappeared down the blacktop. Even before the sedan stopped moving, Mason was tumbling out of the passenger side door. He yanked open the back door, calling Della's name. Park Street recovered enough to get out of the car and stumble out on to the pavement, staring in the direction they'd come from, evidently trying to ascertain if the second car was going to return.

Perry Mason found Della slumped over in the seat, blood soaking the upper arm of her blouse and running down the side of her head. "Della? Baby, are you ok? Della?" Mason's voice quavered. He slid into the car and pulled her to him, cradling her head against his chest. "Oh God! Della, please –! " He felt her hand clutch his shirt.

"I'm ok," she whispered.

He pulled back a bit and looked down at her. "Really. I'm ok, Perry."

"Oh thank God," he breathed, burying his face in her hair. He realized what she was doing and whispered into her ear, "Smart girl." Mason looked up and saw Street returning to the car. "Stay completely still. Don't move, no matter what you hear," he whispered quickly. Gently, he laid her back down on the seat, then slid out of the car.

"You son of a bitch!" he yelled at the other man. "What have you done? She's dead, you bastard!"

"D-dead? Are you sure?" Park asked, somewhat tremulously.

Mason rounded the rear of the car and grabbed his erstwhile brother-in-law by the lapels of the overcoat. He took great pleasure in throwing the other man up against the fender of the car. He pulled his hand back to strike. "Why? Why did you do it? Tell me or I'll kill you right here!"

"Nothing – I've done nothing!" Park Street raised his hands as if warding off blows.

"That was an assasination, Street. A mob hit, pure and simple. And Della was obviously the target. I know you arranged it. I know you did! Don't deny it!" Mason's eyes bored into Street's face.

"No, I swear! I didn't want anything to happen to her." Park Street's voice sounded close to the breaking point.

"Aw, hell," Mason said. He drew back and landed a vicious punch to Park Street's jaw. Street slumped to the ground, not quite unconscious. Mason reached down and grabbed the other man by the lapels once more, hauled him to his feet and threw him away from the car, towards the cornfield. Street stumbled and fell to his knees, facing away from his adversary. Mason moved towards him. "You wanted her money. You killed her so you'd inherit. Were your 'investors' getting impatient?"

Street suddenly whirled around and Perry Mason found himself staring at the business end of a snub nose .38. "Stay where you are!" Street ordered. Mason complied and an uneasy silence was punctuated only by the hiss and pop of the cooling engine. Mason's mind was working in high gear as he sized up his opponent and weighed his options. Not only did he have to protect himself, but he had to make sure Street couldn't hurt Della either. Street drew a long shuddering breath and leveled the gun at the lawyer. "I couldn't kill my own sister, but I've no such compunctions when it comes to you, Mason!"

"Why, Street? Why now?" Mason asked, his voice preternaturally calm. He silently prayed that Della stayed put; lying across the seat of the car, out of harm's way.

"I have debts. I need her money. With it, I can pay off what I owe and keep the businesses afloat. Once I get back on my feet, I have investments I can make that will more than pay back the capital. I thought maybe I could convince Della to go along with the plan, but she wouldn't. I should've known better. My creditors are demanding satisfaction. This was the only way. They were willing to handle the … the details." His voice faltered slightly as he looked past Mason's shoulder to the car parked haphazardly on the side of the road.

"It won't do you any good," Mason sneered, drawing the other man's attention to himself once more. "All my money goes to a sheep ranch in Arizona."

Park Street kept his gun trained on the lawyer as he struggled to his feet. He rubbed his jaw gingerly, working it back and forth as if testing for broken bones. "What the hell are you talking about?" he demanded.

"I've got Della's blood all over me." Mason indicated his bloody hands and clothing. "It's obvious that I moved her body, which means I was still alive after she'd been shot. So, go ahead. Shoot me. You'll never see a dime."

Park Street stared open mouthed for a long moment before comprehension dawned. "You're married." It was more of a statement than a question.

"Yes and she's made a will in my favor."

"You're lying!" Street shouted.

"Lying about the fact that the minute I found out about Della's money, I came rushing half-way across the country, convinced her to marry me and make out a will?" Mason's voice oozed sarcasm. "You go ahead and believe that. Then shoot me and guarantee your ruin, or take the other option."

"What other option?" The hand holding the gun faltered imperceptibly. Mason held his hands out at his sides, making sure that Street could see them as he moved a step closer.

"You need money for your investments. I'm newly wealthy and would be glad to get involved in something that would increase that wealth. Especially if that helps me to stay alive. What do you say to a partnership?"

"I'm tired of having half of everything, Mason. I want all of it. Why trade halving the money with Della for halving it with you?"

"You'll never have all of the money, Street. You've already lost that battle, no matter what happens. You can lose everything, or you can keep your half and more. Della was never a partner – just a liability. She was content to just let the money sit there, rather than putting it to work for you." Keeping his eyes locked on his adversary, Mason moved closer still.

"That's a fact," Street admitted. His gaze turned shrewd. "But what's to stop you from trying to pull something on me later, leaving me to hold the bag for Della." He gestured towards the car.

"You're clear on that. I can't turn you in later without also incriminating myself. As for trying some other scam later on? Nothing is stopping me. It's a risk of doing business, a chance you'll have to take."

The two men locked eyes for a long moment, both considering their choices and trying to anticipate their opponent's next move. Finally, the gun lowered and Mason released the breath he'd been holding.

"What now?" Street asked.

"We get to the hospital and tell our story to the proper authorities. Doesn't seem right for the brand new bridegroom not to rush his lovely bride to the emergency room, even if all hope is lost." Mason said with a sly smile.

Street nodded and climbed into the driver's seat. As reached for the starter he laughed snidely. "It seems you've been deprived of your honeymoon, as well. How terribly sad." He failed to see the dark anger that burned in Perry Mason's eyes.

Mason moved to the rear of the vehicle and slid into the back seat, causing the driver to turn and eye him suspiciously.

"Doubting me so soon?" Mason asked. He continued smoothly, "I have to hold her close, don't you think? It wouldn't do to be seen arriving at the hospital with her body just tossed in the back seat. Doesn't fit the picture of a wedding day tragedy."

He gently lifted Della's head and shoulders into his lap. Her skin was pale and clammy to his touch. Her eyelids never fluttered. Keeping his eyes on Park Street, Mason felt for a pulse on Della's neck. It was there – strong and steady. The head wound, although apparently superficial, had bled profusely.

Perry struggled to remove his suit jacket in the confines of the rear seat, but managed it and wrapped it around Della. Once the jacket covered her, she closed her hand over his thigh, just above his knee. He almost breathed an audible sigh of relief.

"Get a move on," he snapped at Park Street. "We've got to make this look good. Tear up the road and if we get stopped by a traffic cop, so much the better."


	4. Chapter 4

The big automobile careened into the parking lot of the hospital. Mason threw open the back door and maneuvered himself out with Della in his arms. "You talk to the police, Park. I'll get her in to see a doctor," Mason said. He settled Della's limp body against his chest and made his way to the automatic sliding door through which the ambulance patients were admitted. His facial expression was one of intense worry, and only partly staged.

Park Street followed along behind, like a terrier puppy nipping at his heels. Once they'd gained entry, Mason began yelling. "Doctor! We need a doctor! She's been shot!"

Mason and Della were immediately ushered into a treatment room. The lawyer glanced back to see Park Street leaning over the reception desk, demanding they call the police.

Once inside, he gingerly lay Della down on the examination bed. She promptly sat up and said, "Oh, I've got a deuce of a headache." She reached up and touched her hair, but winced at the contact.

"Careful, Darling," Mason said. He looked at her tenderly. "You had me scared to death. I was afraid…" He broke off as the door pushed open and a doctor and nurse poured into the room. The doctor drew up short at the sight of the patient sitting up on the exam table. He glanced back towards the door, then addressed the nurse. "I thought they said she was dying – dead?"

The nurse started to reply, but Mason intervened. "Only wounded, as you see. She's been shot. The bullet grazed the side of her head." He stepped back out of the way.

"Hit my arm, too," Della remarked casually. Mason looked at her sharply, for the first time realizing that not all the blood had come from the head wound. The doctor went to work on his patient, leaving Perry Mason to stand in a corner, hands thrust deep in his pockets, watching them work. He took an involuntary step forward when Della gasped in pain at the touch of an antiseptic. The nurse held him in place with her eyes. She silently indicated the door, but Mason shook his head no. With a final warning in her gaze, she returned her attention to her work.

Having bathed the head wound, which still slowly oozed blood, the doctor noted that a minimum of stitches were called for. The nurse then helped the patient remove her jacket and blouse so she could be examined further. A bullet had grazed the outside of her upper arm. It was a clean shot, requiring little more than cleaning and bandaging. After examination, the doctor gave his nurse some succinct instructions, then turned to the business of washing up. He addressed the tall dark figure hovering in the corner for the first time.

"Your wife was very lucky. Very lucky. Neither of these wounds is particularly serious. A couple of stitches and she'll be just fine. A little sore for a day or two and I'd like to take an X-ray of her skull to make sure there are no complications. I'll hold her overnight for observation, but I expect there will be no problems."

Tenseness seemed to dissipate from Mason's posture and he reached up to run a hand through is hair. "Thank God," he said fervently. He looked back at Della. She met his gaze with a weak smile. The nurse was prepping her head wound for the doctor.

The doctor administered a local anesthesia and proceeded with the stitches. Mason again watched from the corner, taken completely by surprise at the waves of nausea that washed over him as he watched the doctor work. He didn't realize Della was watching him in turn until her amused voice suggested that he sit down before he fell down.

Mason grinned sheepishly and took her advice.

The doctor made quick work of his stitching, leaving Della wrapped in a hospital gown to wait while he called for an orderly to take her upstairs to a private room where she would spend the night. Perry had moved from his chair to sit on the edge of the bed. "You ok, kiddo?" he asked, taking her hand in his. Della smiled up at him.

"I've been better, but I've been worse, too. What happens now?" she asked. Before Mason could answer, the doors to the exam room burst open and Park Street strode into the room followed by two uniformed officers.

"Perry Mason killed my sister, boys," Park Street exclaimed as the group entered. "Take him –!" Street's voice died as his eyes came to rest on the very much alive body of his sister. "Della!" he exclaimed, color draining from his face.

Mason whirled up from his seat on the edge of the bed and crossed the room to meet his adversary. "The only person being taken anywhere is you, Street," Mason said, his words almost as hard as his steel-honed stare. "You're going to prison for fraud and attempted murder."

Street stood immobile, struggling to take in the scene. The officers fared no better. Finally the older of the two stepped up between Mason and Street. "What is going on here?" he demanded.

Mason took his eyes off Street in order to address the officer. The second their gaze broke, Street turned and ran out the door. Mason spat out a curse and sprinted after him, having first sidestepped the now thoroughly confused officer.

"Don't just stand there! Go! Stop him!" Della yelled from the bed. "Stop Park!" she amended when the officers directed their confused faces towards her. Finally, the two jumped to action and took off in the wake of the other two men.

**************

Della had been transferred to a room and was fighting sleep by the time the police returned to question her about the evening's events. Perry Mason, sporting a set of bruised knuckles and a very self-satisfied expression, accompanied them. Della confirmed Mason's version of events and was informed that her brother, following treatment for a broken nose, had been taken to jail where he would remain for at least another 24 hours prior to a bail hearing.

Finally, the nurse on duty shooed away the visitors and administered a sedative to her patient. Within minutes, Della gave way to sleep. Perry stretched out on the cot the nurse had grudgingly provided once he convinced her that he was not spending his wedding night anywhere other than in his wife's room. Tenderness shone in his eyes and he watched Della sleep for a long while before giving in to his own need for rest.

**************

"I have to be in court on Monday. What do you say we spend the weekend lying around, doing as little as possible, then charter a flight back on Sunday evening?" Perry Mason suggested as they made their way into the Street mansion following Della's hospital release the next day. Della had been uncharacteristically quiet all morning and now hesitated as she walked past Perry into the middle of the room.

Noticing her response, Mason said, "Do you need a few more days to get things handled here? I can go back for court, then return for you next weekend if need be." He touched her shoulder, trying to get her to look up so he could see her eyes.

'I…I can't go back, Perry," she said softly. She twisted the house keys in her hand for a moment before pulling away from him and crossing the room to drop the keys into a bowl on a table in the entryway. She stood with her back to him, looking out the window at the grounds that stretched into farm land beyond.

"You can't go back?" he repeated. Della shook her head. After a quick glance down the corridor, she took Mason's arm and pulled him into the formal sitting room that opened from the foyer. Once inside, she turned away from him to close the doors. She lingered in front of the doors for a moment, and seemed to be gathering her composure. Finally, she turned to face Mason. "Park was running the companies, overseeing the factories. People depend on us for their jobs – to feed their families. I can't just put all the cash into a bank and leave all the workers without jobs. It would destroy people's lives. Somebody has to oversee all of this, and there is no one left to do it. I'm the only one." Her words came quickly, not giving Mason a chance to object. "Everything has changed," she said, so softly he could barely hear her. "I have a duty to these people."

Perry crossed the room and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, leading her towards the sofa. "I'm sorry, Della. I guess I'm just so anxious to get home and have things back to normal with you that I didn't realize the extent to which your situation has changed. But we can find a way to work this out. Let me help you."

Della sighed heavily. "This is so unfair. I have to either lose my job – my career – and become just your wife, or I divorce you, and let the papers drag you through the mud."

"Why do you have to make that choice, Della? That's what I've never understood. So what if we stay married? No one in Los Angeles has to know. You can continue to work and live on your own if you want. We'll hire a financial manager for the estate and leave this mess in their care. Things can go back to being the way they were – and we could be together." It was his turn to hesitate. "We could do it, if you're willing to," he finished.

Della lifted her eyes to his. He struggled to read the emotions they portrayed – fear, perhaps. "It would never work, Perry. You know that. This is the kind of secret that people can't keep. Can you imagine that the newspapers here won't pick up on the story? Once it hits the Chicago papers, and it will, then the LA reporters will pick it up for the local angle. Everyone would know. Imagine the talk when we get the divorce. And if I were to stay on as your secretary?" She laughed bitterly. "I can't do that. I care for you too much to do that."

Mason stared incredulously into her eyes. "What do you mean? You can't be my wife _or_ my secretary because you care for me?" He stood up abruptly and began to pace, throwing his words over his shoulder at her. "Don't you understand, Della? I don't care what anyone else thinks. We could have it all. I need you, Della. I need you professionally and I can't live without you personally. Things don't have to change, except for the better. You don't have to give up anything. I'm trying to give you everything if you'd only let me. We could be so happy together. Why can't you accept that? Why can't you understand?"

"That's how it would start, Perry, but not how it would end." Della rose from the sofa and came to stand in front of him, impeding his progress across the carpet. Her arms were crossed over her chest and she stood in a pose that almost mirrored his – feet shoulder width apart, aggressively facing her opponent. "I'd be put in a box - on a pedestal, if you like - but I'd have to behave a certain way, have certain responsibilities that would be at odds with running your office. We'd be the targets of even more gossip and speculation than what we are now. Eventually things would crystallize between us and the relationship would start to die.

"I'm grateful for everything you've done for me. More grateful than you'll ever know, Perry. But things have changed now. I can't just walk away like I did before. And I can't stay with you either. There is no future for us."

"Grateful?" He spat the word. "You think that's what I want? You think I'd want you to stay with me because you feel somehow indebted? Give me a little credit, Della. I don't want your gratitude. I don't want a mistress. I want a wife."

"Then find one! I can't be your wife, Perry! Why can't you understand that? There is no 'happily ever after' for us. Neither of us is made for that." Anger flashed in her eyes. She drew in a breath and took his face in her hands, staring into his eyes, as if willing him to understand. "You need someone who will be content with the house and the diamonds and willing to lose herself in the children she would give you, while you go chasing around the countryside, fighting and scraping and saving your clients. Then she'll be there for you when you finally come home." Mason looked down into her eyes and started to speak, but Della continued. "I can't be her, Perry. Don't you understand that? Even if I wanted to, I can't do it. I can't be that…that prisoner…Park turned me into that and my father did the same thing to my mother. You wanted an answer, did you not? You wanted to know why I thought it would never work out…well look at my past Perry! When did it ever "work out?" No…fate won't allow it. The best we could hope for until now was to share a professional life together. And now, even that has to end."

Perry raised his hands and captured hers, pulling them away from his face. "What do you mean you can't be that prisoner? Do you not know me any better than that? I couldn't stand to live with the scheming little socialite you've just described. I don't want the house or the wife waiting at home with dinner and diamonds. I don't want the lodge meetings, the dinner parties or even the kids. Not on those terms Della. I want you. Nothing more and nothing less. And you…you can't accept that…you can't -- you don't trust me?"

"Don't start with me on trust, Perry. Life just doesn't work that way. We can't make this work simply because that's what you want," she said, pulling her hands from his. "I want you, too, Perry, but I know I can't have you. Marriage would change us. My very existence is an unhappy consequence of those changes. I refuse to do that to you – to let that happen to us." She took a step back from him. "I can't –"

"Don't do that, Della!" Mason interrupted her ominously. His eyes blazed at her as his frustration burned into anger. "I am not your brother and I'm sure as hell not your father. Don't crucify me on the same cross with them. Stop trying to predict the future according to the past – your past."

"I have no choice," she said flatly. "I'm staying here and taking on the family business. It's what I have to do." Her eyes met his one last time before she turned away and walked out of the room.

Perry watched her go, knowing he should chase after her, yet unable to make a move. He knew no matter what he said she would never change her mind. In the past he was always sure that once he knew the real reason behind her refusal to marry him then he could argue through it. It was what he did – what he excelled at. But he had failed. Her fear was completely irrational; nevertheless he realized his logic was completely powerless against it.

Still in his overcoat and hat, he walked around to the front of the sofa and sank down on the soft fabric. For a long time he sat there, head in his hands, eyes on the floor. At length he got up and made a phone call.

****************************

"Anderson, have you seen Miss Street?" the lawyer asked the housekeeper who was the first person he'd encountered upon opening the door of the sitting room. She'd ostensibly been dusting the table in the foyer.

"The study," she replied in a voice like sour milk. "Probably making a list of people to fire, now that she's in charge," she grumbled as Mason walked away in the direction she indicated.

"I'll suggest your name for the top of the list," he threw back over his shoulder.

The door to the study was open and he could see Della sitting behind the desk, carefully reading the financial sheets spread in front of her. Her expression revealed nothing other than perhaps a tightness around her eyes and lips. He'd half expected – hoped – to find her curled in a ball, giving in to the tears that he would've liked to have shed himself. He ached to be able to reach out, to comfort her.

Apparently she didn't need any comfort he could offer.

He made a perfunctory knock against the door panel and stepped inside, not really moving out of the doorway. She glanced up, but quickly dropped her eyes back to her paperwork.

"I've called the airport. I've managed to get a flight back to Los Angeles this evening. Can you give me a ride into the city?"

She nodded. "I'll have the groom take you. When do you need to leave?"

"Right away." He was surprised at how normal his voice sounded. She nodded again and reached for the phone. After a quick instruction to someone on the other end of the line, she glanced at Mason once more. "Thomas will meet you out front in 15 minutes. He'll take you all the way to the airport."

Mason hesitated for a moment. But finding no opening and no words to fill it, he simply said, "I can have things arranged for the divorce within a week. We'll have to both appear before a magistrate to file the initial paperwork, then after the 30 day waiting period, I can handle the rest of it."

She leaned back in the chair and contemplated the fingertips which she steepled in front of her. "I'll come to Los Angeles next week then. Next Monday? Can we sign the papers then?"

"That will be fine. I'll have them ready."

She met his eyes then. "Thank you, Perry." Even now her sultry voice affected him deeply when she used his name. He held her gaze for a long moment, searching for something, anything. He found nothing. His own voice deserted him and he merely nodded, then turned on his heel and softly closed the door behind him.

He leaned back against the closed door, hand still on the knob. He could feel a burning in his throat and a dead emptiness in his chest. This was a pain he'd never had to face before. He wasn't sure how long he stood there, but for however long it was, he heard no sounds coming from the other side of the barrier – no cry, no sob, no sound at all. That hurt perhaps worse than anything. She was already done with this chapter and moving on to the next.

Even as his feet began to move and he walked out through the wide doors and into the bright sunlight, Perry knew this chapter was the end of the book for him.

*************************

Perry Mason hadn't intended to go in to his office this morning. It was Friday and he hadn't even expected to be back on the West Coast yet. However, after his flight home the day before, Mason already had his fill of prowling around the confines of his apartment, trying to find something to distract his mind from its current dilemma.

Dawn found him dozing on a lounge chair out on his balcony. The sounds of the city coming back to life woke him and he pulled himself upright in the chair. The stubble on his jaw scratched his hands as he rubbed them over his face. The sun crept higher over the horizon as he watched, elbows on his knees, head hanging from slumped shoulders. Finally, he rose and headed indoors to shower.

The sun was high in the sky when Mason's car pulled into the parking garage. He acknowledged the attendant's greeting with the slightest of nods and made his way inside. When he exited the elevator on his floor, he turned towards Paul Drake's office rather than his own. As he entered, the receptionist looked up, recognized him and waived him back, while carrying on a telephone conversation and filing her fingernails. Mason found Paul seated as his desk, comparing written notes and large grainy photographs.

"Perry!" Paul exclaimed when Mason tapped on the door frame. "Come on in! I didn't know you were back. I haven't gotten a report since yesterday. Everything ok? Street is still in jail?"

Mason nodded and dropped into a chair across from Paul's desk. "He won't be getting out for a long, long time. We were at the hospital and he tried to sic the cops on me for killing Della. When he realized she wasn't actually dead, he took off. We chased after him, but he made it into the hospital parking lot before we caught him. He had a gun and shot one of the officers before he was taken down."

"Good grief! Did the guy live? Did they shoot Street?"

"He hit the officer in the shoulder. He's going to be fine. Street has a broken nose and a couple of busted ribs. He'll mend." Perry's voice was flat and unemotional. Paul regarded him carefully, taking note of the bruises that still showed on the other man's knuckles.

"And Della?" Paul asked.

Mason looked down at the floor, but didn't answer. Paul shifted forward in his seat. "What's wrong Perry? She's ok, isn't she?"

Mason nodded, finally, before looking up at his friend. When their eyes met, Paul noticed for the first time the heavy dark circles under the lawyer's eyes. "She's not coming back, Paul. I've made a huge mistake. I saved her fortune and destroyed her future ...destroyed our future. I've lost her."

Paul sat back in his chair and regarded his friend with a concerned expression. He was a natural-born listener, which was part of what made him an excellent investigator. Listening often meant waiting. After a few minutes, Mason continued. "Now that her brother is out of the picture, she feels responsible for taking over the family business. There are a lot of people who count on the Street family for their jobs. If she pulls out, she'll still be wealthy, but the whole town will suffer. Della's not willing to do that."

"Can she handle it? Can she run a business like that?" Drake asked.

"Not a doubt in my mind," Mason answered. "She's evidently inherited the family business acumen. My accountant has been telling me for years that she is a genius with the stock market. When they get together to go over the monthly accounts, she normally has some kind of stock tip for him. He's put quite a bit of my money into whatever she's recommended over the years and made a killing. I don't really think she ever does any investing of her own, though. She's told him picking stocks has always been a hobby for her - she just enjoys researching the companies and then seeing if her instincts are right."

"And she's got great instincts," Drake drawled.

"Among other things," Mason admitted, a smile turning up the corners of his mouth. "You should've seen her when I left. She was engulfed in a huge leather desk chair, almost obscured by an over-sized desk - a table, really - and financial reports spread all around her. The setup made her look like a child playing at her father's office, yet it was so obvious that she knew exactly what she was doing. It was like...she belonged there." Mason sighed heavily.

Paul wasn't sure what to say. His last report contained the information that Perry and Della had gone to a courthouse in a neighboring county. The operative had evidently taken great pleasure in describing the embrace he'd witnessed between them before they entered the building. Paul remembered the terms of the Street estate and had figured out why they were there.

"The two of you got married while you were there, didn't you? What now? Annulment?" Paul asked.

Perry raised an eyebrow.

"My man was still following Della at that point. It was pretty easy to put 2 and 2 together," Paul admitted. Perry nodded. "Not an annulment. That might put her legal status with the estate into question. She'll be back next week to sign divorce papers," he said.

"That's it? Sign the paperwork and then it's back to Illinois?" Paul couldn't keep the note of surprise out of his voice. "That's it?"

Perry stood and slung his overcoat over his shoulder. "That's it. Then I advertise for a new secretary." With that he turned on his heel and left the office.

"Say Perry...wait!" Paul called after him. Paul jumped up and followed him out the door into the receptionist's office. Perry didn't stop and just waived his hand behind him and shook his head 'no' as he exited out the front of the Drake Detective Agency, leaving Paul to stare at the empty doorway.

*****************************

Bright and early on Monday morning, a week after Perry Mason had returned to Los Angeles, the sound of Della Street's high heels filled the hallways of the Brentwood Building once again. Dressed in a dark red suit, and a white silk blouse which was cut low enough to effectively frame the strands of pearls she wore. Della Street entered the office. It was early yet, and the lawyer had not arrived. Only Gertie, the receptionist was there, collecting messages from the overnight answering service. She hung up the phone when she saw Della and rushed to greet her.

"Oh, Miss Street!" Gertie gushed. "Thank God you're back! I didn't know if I could take much more of this."

"It's nice to see you, too, Gertie," Della said with a smile. "What's wrong?"

"It's Mr. Mason." Seeing the frown cross Della's features, Gertie quickly added. "He's not sick or anything. It's just that he's so unhappy. He's been in a horrible mood all week – deadly polite but just a bear. I'm sure he'll be better now that you're back. There are two temporary typists that have been trying to finish up the briefs that Mr. Mason's been working on, but it just hasn't been going well. A lot of re-writes, I think. But now that you're back, everything will be ok. I'm sure it will!" The bubbly blonde paused as if trying to decide if she should say more. Della smiled and patted her hand before crossing through the door into her own office to peruse the work spread out on the surface of her desk. Gertie followed along behind. She stood watching as Della flipped half-heartedly through some of the papers. Noting that Della wasn't really paying attention to the items in her hand, Gertie took a deep breath, and plunged ahead. "I, uh, do you? That is – Miss Street, you know how Mr. Mason feels about you, don't you?" she blurted out.

Della glanced back over her shoulder at Gertie, her eyes wary. When she didn't speak, Gertie pressed forward. "Well, it's obvious he's in love with you. I know it's none of my business, Miss Street, but, well, he's just lost without you. I don't know what happened when you were both away, but something happened and he's just not been the same. I hope you can make things right." Gertie's green eyes glistened with sincerity. Della couldn't help but smile wistfully. She crossed the room and took Gertie's hand. She squeezed it reassuringly.

"He didn't mention what was wrong? Or anything that happened?" Della asked quietly.

"No, nothing. I am just hoping that whatever it is, you can help him."

Della sighed. "I don't know, Gertie. I just don't know." Her voice trailed off and after a moment, the younger woman returned to the reception desk and went about her work. Della watched her for a moment, then entered her own office, closing the door behind her. Rather than sitting down at her desk, she crossed the room and opened the door leading to the executive office beyond. Della stood for a moment in the doorway, surveying the damage.

The cleaning crew had done their job, but the room had the feel of disarray and disorder. Law books were lying open where they'd been dropped on various surfaces. Mason's desk was littered with mail, most of it unopened and legal pads of notes and scribbles. Della sighed again and moved further into the office, intent on bringing back the sense of order that it's usual occupant had so successfully squelched. The hall door opened at that moment.

Perry Mason stepped through the door. Piercing blue eyes locked on amused brown ones. He grinned sheepishly. "I know, I know. I'll pick up the books, I promise." Della smiled too and indicated the surface of his desk. "And what are you going to do with all that mail?"

"Probably scoop if off into a wastebasket and start over again," he admitted.

Della shook her head, her expression bemused. "Gertie tells me you've had a rough week."

The twinkle faded from Mason's eyes. "It hasn't been fun."

Della didn't reply. She appeared suddenly nervous. As Mason began removing his coat and hat, she crossed to his desk and fiddled with some of the envelopes there. Her deft fingers sorted through a short stack, pulling out two envelopes which she handed to him as he seated himself in his desk chair. "Better give these to Gertie," she said. "They've no doubt got checks in them."

Mason nodded distractedly and set the envelopes to one side. He looked up at Della, trying to read her eyes, but she wouldn't quite meet his gaze.

"Do you have the papers?" she finally asked.

He didn't answer, but reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a folded blue legal jacket. He contemplated it for a long moment, turning it in his hands before opening it and spreading it out flat on the desk. Della picked up the forms and appeared to read them. "We have an appointment before Judge Harkins at 10:00 a.m. I've explained the situation to him and he's agreed to let us handle this in chambers," he said, huskiness giving his voice an edge.

"That's fine," Della said softly. She laid the forms back on the desk's surface and raised her eyes to his. "A pen?" she asked. He nodded mutely and handed her his fountain pen.

Suddenly, he couldn't stand to watch anymore. He stood up and walked over to the sliding doors that opened out onto the balcony. He knew she wasn't just ending their so-called marriage with the stroke of that pen, but their professional relationship as well. She was going back to Illinois, back to the family business. All that would remain were the frail promises of continued friendship that would dwindle down to a few lines exchanged on Christmas cards and nothing more.

Mason couldn't see that Della stood watching him for a moment as his back was turned to her. It was obvious that he was really going to let her go. He'd offered no last arguments, just the use of his pen. Della's expression betrayed the ache she felt in her heart. She looked back down at the divorce papers and found the lines with her name typed below them. This was the right thing to do. It was what she had to do. And yet… The office was eerily quiet save for the light brushing of the breeze outside the windows as it danced in and out of the plants on the balcony.

Mason gazed unseeingly at the sun-drenched Los Angeles skyline and felt a black hatred boiling up from deep inside. Park Street had failed in his attempt to kill Della and take her money, but he'd successfully taken everything Mason held dear. He could never find someone to replace Della and his career would suffer for it. But, more importantly, Park had put them in this impossible position and now Della's fear of repeating the mistakes of the past was forcing Mason apart from the woman he loved.

Perry listened for the scratch of pen on paper that would signify the end. But he heard nothing. Finally, he chanced a glance back towards his desk.

Della leaned forward over the polished wood surface, weight resting on her left hand, palm flat atop the desk. Her right hand held the pen poised over the divorce papers. She stared down at the forms without moving. The moment dragged out as Perry turned slowly to face her.

"Can we make this work, Perry? Really work?" Her voice was so soft, he had to strain to make out her words. He was afraid to move, afraid to even stir the air between them. This moment was perhaps the most important of his life to date.

"Yes, Della. If that's what you want. It won't be easy, but you and I can do anything if we're working together." His own voice was low and quavered ever so slightly.

Slowly, painfully slowly, Della laid the pen down. She turned around and leaned her hips back against the desk, crossing her arms over her chest. Mason wasn't sure whether or not to exhale.

"I hired a financial manager. Judge Daniels. He was going to retire anyway," Della said musingly. She seemed to be talking more to herself than to him. "I can convince him and his wife to live in the house. Betty could run the household and the Judge can handle the businesses."

Mason took a step towards her. "And you could stay here. Everything could go back to the way it was. We can still go through with the divorce. That is, if that's what you want?"

"We can never go back to the way it was, Perry," she said. She looked at him then. His heart dropped, the brief flash of hope died and he closed his eyes, not sure he could maintain his composure. A slow smile curved her lips. She reached behind her and picked up the phone. "Get me Judge Harkin's office on the line, Gertie." She never took her gaze off Mason, who now regarded her with heavily lidded eyes as he shoved his hands deep into his pockets. His powerful frame leaned towards her slightly. He made no move towards her, but rather watched her carefully.

Della broke eye contact when the call connected. "Yes, is this Judge Harkin's secretary? This is Della Street." Mason did not miss the subtle emphasis on her last name. "From Perry Mason's office. Mr. Mason had an appointment with the Judge this morning. I need to cancel that appointment. Please let the Judge know that the matter has been resolved. Thank you." And with that she hung up the phone.

By the time she'd pulled her hand away from the receiver, Mason had taken the two steps necessary to reach her. "What does that mean, Della?" he asked, his voice raspy with emotion.

Della sighed. "It means I can't live without you either, you big lug. It means I want to be a part of your life. Forever." A radiant smile broke through her serious expression and she reached out and laid a hand against his chest. "Will you stay married to me Perry? And let me be your secretary?"

He pulled her up off the desk and into his embrace. She turned her head up to him and their lips met. Perry crushed Della's lithe form to his chest while his hands slid up and down her back. After a long moment, he felt her push against him and he paused. She only wanted to shift position so that his mouth slanted more easily over hers and she could free her arms and wrap them around his neck. When he felt her twine her fingers in his hair, he attacked her lips with renewed vigor. She responded with equal passion. He felt her soft bite on his lower lip. A growl formed deep in his throat and he held Della even tighter, lifting her on to the edge of his desk. Finally releasing her from his kiss and allowing her to breathe, Perry began to attack the soft skin of her neck. She moaned and turned her head to allow him better access. As his lips brushed the top of her collar, his fingers slipped down the front of her blouse, fumbling with the top button. Della took a deep breath, unwittingly filling his hand with her soft flesh.

She gasped and pulled back. "Perry!" Her throaty voice had a definite breathless quality. Mason stepped back and stared at her, eyes alight with passion, and breathing more than a little heavy himself. "We can't do this here," she managed to say. Perry grinned at her, rather wolfishly, then turned and crossed to the door to the outer office. He turned the spring lock, the bolt shot home with a soft click. When he turned back to face her he said, "I don't know why not." He then locked the door to the law library. "Here? Now?" she asked, her voice slightly incredulous.

Mason completed his circuit of the room by drawing the drapes across the windows and doors to the balcony. Della hadn't slid off the desk, but instead crossed her legs and leaned back on her hands, fingers splayed across the smooth surface of the desktop. Perry came to stand in front of her. He almost laughed at her decidedly dubious expression. Leaning down he pressed a soft kiss to her mouth even as he reached around her to pick up the phone. He pulled back as Gertie's voice came on the line. Keeping his face inches from Della's, he spoke to the receptionist, "Gertie, hold all my calls. I've got some things I need to do with Miss Street, then we'll be leaving for the day." Gertie's reply was lost as Mason slipped the phone back in its cradle, then set the instrument on the floor beside the desk.

Della's eyes betrayed her amusement as she watched him reach past her waist and very deliberately sweep all the mail off the desk and onto the floor. His desk now cleared, he leaned into her again, this time kissing the side of her neck. "Perry," she said, laughter making her voice even more rich than normal. "You can't be serious."

He pulled back just enough to meet her gaze. His hands cupped the sides of her face and his eyes drank in her features as if burning them into his mind. "Of course I'm serious! I love you, Della Street. Or whatever your last name is." She laughed aloud at that. "I need you Della. Promise me we'll never have to be apart again."

"Oh, Perry," she said, running her fingers down the sides of his face. "I love you, too. I realized that I was doing the very thing I'd always fought so hard against – letting my past come between me and the life that I want. You are that life, Perry."

Her fingers circled his neck and she pulled him down to her once more. The kiss was hot and hungry. Mason used his body to push her farther back onto the surface of the desk. Once again, his hands moved to the buttons of her blouse, this time making quick work of them, freeing more of her body to the heated exploration of his hands.

As he gently maneuvered her back onto the desk, she suddenly clutched at his shirt, pushed him away and tried to sit up. Perry pulled back and raised an eyebrow at her in silent question. "This is crazy! We can't make love on your desk, Perry!"

He found himself unable to draw his eyes away from the tantalizing rise and fall of her breasts as she spoke. "Della, darling," he drawled as he pushed her blouse the rest of the way off of her shoulders. "This is you and me. What could be more appropriate for us than making love on my desk?" He yanked off his necktie as he spoke, then began working himself free of his own shirt.

She laughed aloud at the mixture of boyish hopefulness and lust that formed his expression. "I don't suppose I can argue with that, Counselor," she replied as her arms wound around his neck, pulling them both back onto the desktop.

Perry followed her lead and made sure there was no room for argument of any kind.

The End

_A/N Thank you for reviewing! Feedback keeps me off the streets and chained to the computer._


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